


New Card

by AcadianWitch



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Dinner Date, F/M, One-Sided Attraction, POV First Person, Present Tense, Stream of Consciousness, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25180414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcadianWitch/pseuds/AcadianWitch
Summary: Medusa's work at Shibusen is shockingly dull; the only interesting man she currently knows serves as entertainment, as well as a source of boredom. A help and a hindrance.
Relationships: Medusa Gorgon/Franken Stein
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	New Card

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something new for this. I have no idea if it's any good, but I enjoyed writing it. I may come back and write more chapters for this and make it a collection of bits from when Medusa is at Shibusen.

There’s a little sign on the wall of the nurse’s office. A bright and bold **WARNING!** hangs over a series of black symbols, overlaid on beige paper. I have no real idea what any of it means. I didn’t put it there, and it’s been there as long as anyone can remember. Stein sometimes looks at it inquisitively, whenever he’s there. It’s almost as if he’s studying it, as though looking at it for long enough will force it to reveal all of it’s secrets to him. He sits on a rusted folding chair, totally entranced by this thing.

“So…” I mutter, racking my knuckles on my desk, trying to snap him awake. “Riveting stuff, huh?”

It takes a moment for any of this to get through to him. He shifts his head to the side, enough so that he can hear me, but not to where he has to take his eyes off of the sign. “Yeah.” He shrugs, an unlit cigarette dangles from his open mouth. I think it’s backwards.

I nod. “What does it say?” I inquire, somewhat curious.

“Nothing important.” He mutters.

“Huh?”

“ _Nothing important._ ” He impatiently restates, his head swiveling so that he can glare at me. “If it _was_ important, you would know.”

I don’t know most of the people here very well, with the sole exception of Stein, who I’ve taken a very keen interest in. He’s acting very odd today, irritable and dejected. He seems insistent on staying in here for extended periods of time at totally random intervals. I’ve never figured out why, though. The growing chasm in my stomach isn’t ceasing. A part of me wonders if he’s really on to me, or if this is just something different.

“Something wrong, Stein?”

“With what?” He grumbles.

“With anything.” I shrug, shifting my eyes between him and the dull medical records I have to file later. Some kids got into a fight on the grounds. A few broken bones, cuts and scrapes, that sort of thing. I think the reason as to why I tolerate him is because, at the very least, he is far more interesting than the vast majority of the miserable souls here.

“No. Fine. On edge.” He pauses every time he speaks, as though he’s fighting through some kind of pain or impediment to say anything. I pretend not to notice. “Sorry.”

The apology is sudden, as if it finally occurred to him that this isn’t really the sort of thing most people would tolerate in their offices. I smile, even though he can’t see me, and that I’ve quickly gathered an urge to spill his intestines onto the linoleum floors, which I have recently had sanitized. He says nothing for the remainder of the time he’s here, just periodically fidgeting in his chair, or tapping his foot against the floor. He leaves, although I don’t notice it. Maybe around 6:30.

…

I’m listening to some new and utterly banal pop CD on a player that I stole from one of the students, although maybe “reappropriated” is a better word. Although the lyrics about superficial love makes me sick to my stomach, the music is soothing enough, and the singer has a soft enough voice to make it listenable. Fine for working and enough to keep me awake. I’m tapping my pencil against a manilla envelope, thinking about how many more of these I have to correct. There’s probably five-hundred, by the time it’s all said and done. I have to correct this all _manually,_ because no one here at this academy has heard of a fucking computer. Why don’t I have a secretary to deal with this stuff? It’s bad enough that I spend my days trying to gather information on what I can and then have to go patch up dumb brats who can’t stay out of fights for more than an hour.

With the cheap on-ear headphones I managed to procure, it’s quite easy to hear the knocking at my open door. I lean back in my chair to find Stein standing in the doorway, staring up at the ceiling.

“Uh, come in.” I offer, waving a hand and quickly shoving the player and headphones into an open desk drawer, slamming it shut as he strides over to where I’m sitting.

It’s only now that I truly realize how absurdly _tall_ he actually is. Nearly seven feet, he towers over me, to the point where I have to roll back and crane my neck up to look into his eyes. It’s oddly humiliating. He’s clearly distressed and looks even more tired than usual.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” I offer, awkwardly trying to smile.

“What are you doing this weekend?” He inquires in monotone, staring out the window.

“Nothing,” I say, truthfully. “I suppose. Why?”

He seems to be questioning himself or weighing his options on what to say. “How about… dinner. You and I.” He suggests, waving his hand between the two of us.

I’m looking right up at him even if he isn’t looking at me, and waiting for a wide smile. Or laughter. Something to reveal to me, I _hope_ , that this is just another one of his horrid jokes. The empty feeling in my stomach hasn’t gone away in the past few days. I struggle to figure something to say.

“Er, I suppose-” I stammer out. “-but I mean I have stuff to do and-”

“I thought you didn’t have anything to do?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. His face has changed and he almost looks annoyed with me trying to go back on what I’ve said. I break away from his glare, and side eye the city. I can make out a few people still walking around, despite the late almost-evening time it currently is. In this moment, I resolve to gut him as soon as I stop finding out interesting things about him.

“I… sure. We can, I guess. Where?”

“I have reservations.” He explains. “B. Marrow. Heard of it?”

“No.” I state, now well and truly confused. “You’ve already made the reservations?”

He nods, then gives an overly wide and fake smile. He digs a small ruled note out of his pocket and hands it to me; it contains the address of the restaurant written twice. The first is written in pseudo-cursive, but it’s too messy to read, and crossed out. The revised writing is in block capitals. The address reads _**316 NECROPOLIS AVE.**_ There’s also a time: nine-o-clock.

I place the note into my coat pocket, thinking. “Really?”

“Sure.”

“There any particular thing that drove you to want to… take me… out?” I stumble the words out. I’m so painfully confused and baffled by this. I really do not understand any of it. He _isn’t_ the sort of person to do this kind of thing.

I shrug. “So… Saturday.”

He nods. “It’s nothing special, so don’t take it the wrong way. Figure I can show you something… nicer. Besides, you seem frustrated recently. See it as a nice evening out to clear your mind. Oh, and uh… dress… formally.”

I really don’t know what to say, so he waltzes off before I can offer any more theoretical protestation. I’m left to stare at the stupid stack of envelopes, filled with the medical records of hundreds of miserable children. I suppose, at this point, he’s planning something.

…

B. Marrow is apparently the “hip” place to be seen in this wastrel city. I imagine it’s roundabout the only place that requires a reservation, so Stein was unlikely to be spoiled for choice. We arrive a couple minutes early, only to find a crowded line of about 20 or so couples. Stein knows the bouncer, who laughs and quickly shuffles us in, to the undisguised contempt of those waiting at the front of the line.

It’s an odd place. The lighting is dim, lit candles rest in wax shaped like skulls, the sort of thing one imagines if you were to think of a “nice restaurant” in a city run by the Shinigami. Otherwise, it’s quite reserved. Classy, I suppose. I’m wearing a navy blue wool suit, a white cotton shirt, black slacks, dark brown loafers, and a tie, also a dark blue. Stein is wearing a stitched together white suit. It bothers me more than it should.

“Two for nine.” He says, gesturing towards me and himself. The maître d' looks at me oddly, but doesn’t comment, although he gives Stein a strange look. They guide us to our table, nestled in the back of the building. Smoke covers much of this section of the room. It’s tied off, along with a sign that says **SMOKING SECTION. PLEASE DO NOT SMOKE OUTSIDE OF AREA. THANK YOU.**

“He didn’t ask for your name.” I note, settling into the slightly uncomfortable wooden chairs.

“He and I go back… sort of.” Stein explains, shrugging. “Lot of people around here know me.” He states, sounding somewhat frustrated by the idea.

“I like it.”

He’s gesturing towards me, so I assume he means my outfit. I force a smile. “Hopefully I’m not upstaging you. I haven’t been to a real… function in a while. Didn’t have anything to wear except this.”

“No no,” He begins, reaching into his pocket for a loose cigarette and a lighter. “I like it. More girls should dress like that… hope you don’t mind-” He shrugs, cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

I shake my head. “No, go ahead.”

In a few quick motions, he lights it and shuts the lighter, the metal clanging overwriting the sounds of the band playing at the front of the club. “So, how long HAS it been since you last got… dolled up?” He inquires.

He’s really serious with this, isn’t he? I’ve been hoping at every stage tonight that it would all be revealed to me as some kind of joke on the doctor’s behalf, but _no._ He’s really trying to impress me with his ability to easily get into this place. He’s making _small talk_. My interest in him is already dropping like a corpse in a lake with rocks tied to its legs.

“Ah, truthfully… 1965.”

Not a lie. Still, he snickers, interpreting it as some kind of surreal joke.

“You’re good at this Medusa.”

The panging in my chest returns. One part of me interprets the worst in that, not helped by his very pleased expression, as if he’s found some large dark secret of mine. The other wonders if he’s just really this dull. The waiter, a frail girl no older than 20, skips over to collect our order. She recognizes Stein, but not me. Her expression shifts from one of servile chipperness towards something more nervous and anxious.

“Uhm… hello, start off with drinks…” She mutters, as if she’s forgotten what she’s supposed to say. She keeps looking at Stein, and then to me, and back again. He doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does, he doesn’t acknowledge it.

He claps his hands together. “Yes, let’s say… Form- you guys still have that, right?”

She nods, quickly jotting it down. I suppose ‘Form’ is some sort of weird mixed house drink.

He gestures to me. “Ah, she’ll have…?”

I smile slightly. “Any kind of chardonnay, I’ll have a glass of it.”

The waitress pauses for a second, but still writes it down fairly quickly. When she looks back up, it’s only at Stein. “W-would you two like to hear the special for tonight?”

“We’ll both have it.”

“Uh, but-”

“We’ll both have it.” He reiterates, quite insistent. I don’t complain, I’m not really hungry anyways. I nod at her, she’s clearly confused and has no idea what’s going on. She mutters something and then shuffles away.

He taps the table a few times. “Tell me about it.”

“Hm?”

He waves his hand. “Y’know. What’s on your mind? You up to anything outside of patching up kids and filing paperwork?”

“Oh, I study stuff.” Is the best I can come up with. “Animals, pharmacology, that sort of thing.”

“Sure.” He agrees, but unsatisfied. “But what do you do for _fun?_ ”

I’m staring at the wallpaper, which is a dark burgundy. Stein is smoking unfiltered cigarettes for some reason. “What do _you_ do for fun, doctor?” I deflect.

He shrugs, rubbing his hands together as if he’s thinking of something to say. “I like to… dissect things.”

I have no idea if he’s messing with me. If it’s a joke or not, or if he thinks he can get me to admit something about myself. The rest of the staff are blind and trusting to a cripplingly pathetic degree… he’s different though. I raise an eyebrow, playing along.

“Oh? What kind of things?”

“Whatever I can get my hands on.” He states, tapping his fingers on the side of the table. “Frogs, rats, stray dogs, cats, a horse a few times. The odd endangered species…

…and witches.”

He tilts his head to the side, smiling at me. Does he really know? How? I’ve left nothing that would incriminate me in this. My hands are shaking, though I’m trying to keep calm and play along with him.

“I don’t like that look you’re giving me.” I force a giggle.

“You see… there’s a commonality between them and you.”

My smile falls. I’m genuinely nervous for the first time in however fucking long. “What’s that?” I ask, trying to keep my anxiety out of my speech.

He smirks, tenting his hands and staring at me.

“I’ll have cut off both of your clothes.”

_Ugh._

His snicker at my disgusted expression turns into laughter loud enough to draw a few eyes to the table. I don’t know if I can ever truly read him. The anxiety is gone, but my patience with him is wearing thin.

“You’re _horrible_.” I mutter, shaking my head. I put on another smile to communicate that I do “get” his sense of humor. “I should report you for harassment.”

“Aw, come on!” He pleads with a wide smile. “That was good. At least get Spirit first before me!”

Somewhere along these horrid few minutes, the waitress has come with our drinks. His is accruing condensation, mine sparkles. I have no interest in drinking, but I do it to appear as if I’m having something resembling a good time. He doesn’t drink his.

“How is he, by the way?” I inquire, trying to steer the conversation away from this nonsense. He looks to the left just as a glass falls onto the floor, cracking into a dozens of pieces.

“Spirit? He’s fine.” He explains, never looking at me, as if he’s lost in thought. “Got divorced.”

“Oh.”

“It’s been a long time coming.” He notes, shrugging. “He’ll get over it eventually.”

The way he talks about Spirit is strange. There’s a slightly depressed tone to his voice, as if he’s trying to imagine a different world that contrasts with reality. I find that happens a lot with more idyllic sorts; not _Stein_ though.

“You alright?” I ask, taking another drink.

“Mm? Yeah.” He nods, turning back this way. “Just haven’t felt like myself lately.”

“I’ve noticed. Is there something wrong?”

“Madness.” He states matter-of-factly. “Something is wrong with the world. I just don’t know what.”

He’s not looking at me while saying any of this- just staring up at the ceiling, a dazed look on his face. I’ve read his file, I know most of what there is to know about him. Brilliant student. Violent tendencies. An indispensable asset to Shibusen. “Prone to periods of aggression and hallucinations”. Even the school’s own file spares little about him. I’ve even found his records from when he was a student. No one could figure out what was wrong with him. I found an old piece of paper in that folder, stapled on with a note from a doctor: _Sometimes they’re just born like that._

I smile. “Interesting.”

…


End file.
